


A Snowball's Chance

by dreamlittleyo



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Established Relationship, Fluff, Hell, M/M, Romance, Sibling Incest, Snowball Fight, Wincest - Freeform, Wordcount: 1.000-3.000, Wordcount: 1.000-5.000, Wordcount: Over 1.000
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-04-16
Updated: 2011-04-16
Packaged: 2017-10-18 04:35:09
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,107
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/185045
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/dreamlittleyo/pseuds/dreamlittleyo
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Sam rules Hell. It's a stressful job. Fortunately he's got this brother who's… remarkably resourceful. Silliness and sex ensue, and maybe that's exactly what Sam needs.<br/></p>
            </blockquote>





	A Snowball's Chance

If Sam were honest with himself, he'd have to admit he's a little stressed. If he were _completely_ honest he'd have to admit it's more than a little, strung out and exhausted. It takes a lot of energy, and a lot of paranoid control to keep the forces of Hell in line. Yeah, sure, he's got an _awesome_ throne, but sometimes it's _not_ so good to be the king. Sometimes the newly crowned Boy King of Hell gets a little sick of sorting out petty squabbles between the members of his horde.

He doesn't mind the bigger stuff. It's his duty, after all. Keep the boundaries in place, keep reality itself from unraveling and forming a rift between worlds. Keep Hell confined within its own contours, and he's damn good at that. Sure, it requires the occasional smiting, the squashing of a mutiny here or there... but Sam's already proven himself quite capable of the necessary violence and intimidation. That's not the problem.

It's the little stuff that drives him nuts. The bickering between his lieutenants, all of them anxious to be his favorite. It's when Famine whines to him that Pestilence stole the last pudding cup that Sam decides he's finally had enough.

He rises from his throne in a stormy instant, stomping out of the castle and into the barren landscape that passes for the palace grounds. Thunder crackles in his wake, the sharp sting of electricity. In his peripheral vision he sees a couple of his generals jump in surprise.

Standing outside doesn't really help. He doesn't know what he needs, no idea what he's looking for. The sky burns red, a beautiful pitch of crimson, and the burning ground feels comfortably warm against the soles of his feet. It's not nearly enough to calm his nerves.

"Hey! Sammy!" It's an intimately familiar voice, the only one in existence that gets to use that name. From anyone else it's cause for messy wrath, but Dean... Dean is what he needs, what he needs _right goddamn now_ Sam realizes, and he turns to follow his brother's voice.

Gets caught completely off guard by the slam of cold, wet slush across his face. It _can't_ be. Except it is, and it's melting into his shirt and Sam just stares at his brother.

"Dean, you can't make snowballs in _Hell_!"

"Says you," Dean smirks at him, lobbing a second casually up into the air and catching it. There's no snow around him, not a flake to be seen, but the icy ball in his hand holds it's shape until he hurls it, so sudden Sam can't even duck.

Sam brushes the slush away before it finishes melting and fights the urge to laugh.

"Dean, seriously. How did you do that?"

"I know a guy," Dean smirks. No more ammo in hand. "He could only give me two. If we're going to continue this, it's on you now."

"Me."

"Yeah. You want retribution you're going to need more snow, right? And I'm not the one with all the fancy powers and rule of the realm."

Sam thinks about it. Thinks about all the uprisings he could squash with the power it would take to summon a winter storm over the palace. Thinks for all of a minute before he knows that plastering Dean is a thousand times more important.

"You're on," he says, and focuses his mind in on the skies. The clouds are red as the horizon, but the flurry they let loose is white as... well... snow. He and Dean stand in the midst of it, matching grins on their faces as the snow falls in fat, heavy flakes around them. It should melt on impact, but Sam's got his powers all over _that_ , too, and in no time they've got a sprawling landscape full of crystal white firepower.

They fly at each other, around each other, an intricate dance as they pack sphere after sphere to hurl back and forth. Sam is soaked through in a matter of minutes, knows Dean is just as bad, and the laughter is too much to hold in. He lets it out, lets it loose. It's not quite human, the sound, and it echoes across the horizon, shakes the canyons with his power.

Their tactics degenerate before long. It takes too long to pack a good, solid snowball, so Sam just tackles Dean into a snow bank and dumps an armload of slush on his head. Dean retaliates in kind, shoves snow up under Sam's shirt. It makes him yelp, because that's _cold_ and Sam had started to forget what cold even feels like.

Exhaustion hits them all at once, finds Sam straddling his brother's waist and both of them breathing hard. Dean's eyes are bright beneath him, his hair sparkling wet and icy as water tracks down the side of his face. Sam leans down to lick a drop away, and Dean catches him in a kiss before he can draw back.

Sex in the snow isn't exactly ideal, but Sam can't be bothered to relocate. It's the strangest mix of sensations, the freeze of slush along his skin and the warm burn of Hell's atmosphere, hotter than another world he barely remembers. He strips Dean down right there in the snow, knows his brother _probably_ won't catch cold, and even if he does Sam's got the power to fix it with a wink.

Dean's body is hot and perfect around him, welcoming when Sam draws preparing fingers free so he can slide his cock home. Dean's moans are delicious, swallowed whole by Sam's greedy mouth as he kisses his brother deep, fucks into him in time with each thrust of his tongue. Dean wraps all around him, holds him even closer as Sam groans and bites along his throat. Marking and claiming, even though all of Hell already knows Dean is his. Dean is Hands Off, property of the Boy King himself, but Sam likes being able to _see_ it. Dean never seems to mind.

He can't keep focusing the power through his orgasm, and the snow melts away by the time he slides free of his brother's body.

"Thank you," he whispers against Dean's skin, and pretends not to see the eyeroll that follows.

He feels himself settle, feels something deep down recharging with Dean's touch, Dean's smile, Dean's obliging embrace.

His clothes are still dripping as he helps Dean to his feet. Helps his brother don his own soggy garments. A quick kiss, because he can, and then it's back to work.

It never stops. But Sam rests easy knowing that Dean's got his back.


End file.
